


The Boy Who Would Be King

by cabbagespoon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Vomiting, Whump, concussion, emeto, lactose intolerant, motion sick, stomach flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 03:17:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16905081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabbagespoon/pseuds/cabbagespoon
Summary: A collection of Lotor centric whump drabbles.





	1. Chapter 1

Lotor strode out of the arena, chin held high and confidant gait exuding regality as the deafening cheers of half the Galra empire thundered in his ears.

But as the exuberant chaos dimmed to an echoing hum and the hallway darkened into a narrow turn, Lotor felt his pristine posture begin to wilt. His steps faltered as a sudden wave of lightheadedness caught him off guard. He swayed and reached out to brace himself against the stone wall, shaking his head to try and clear the unexpected surge of dizziness.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, waiting for the spell to pass, and suddenly realized how much his head hurt. The adrenaline was wearing off and now Lotor could feel every throbbing pulse as blood pumped to his brain and settled into a steadily building pressure behind his eyes. He reached up, gingerly feeling the tender spot just above his ear. As Lotor pulled his hand away, he was surprised to find his fingers stained with traces of congealing blood.

“Dammit,” he cursed under his breath, blinking rapidly as the hallway appeared to shimmer before him. That traitorous bastard had hit him harder than he’d thought.

He gulped down the sour lump of fear rising in his throat and kept moving. He only had to make it back to his quarters; it wasn’t very far at all. Then he could clean himself up and get rid of this inconvenient headache.

Lotor pressed a hand to his aching forehead, forcing himself to stand up a little straighter as he continued down the hallway. The dull purple light seemed to be burrowing into his skull, nesting behind his eyelids. He felt sick, his stomach rolling queasily with every step.

Acxa was waiting for him as he emerged into his luxurious quarters. She greeted him with a proud smile and salute. He swallowed thickly and managed a curt nod, but even that slight gesture sent his head reeling.

“Highness,” his general beamed. “You were magnificent. They were eating out of the palm of your hand.”

Lotor ignored her praise and concentrated on remaining upright. “Where are the others?”

She quirked a curious eyebrow. “They are awaiting your orders aboard the ship as instructed. I thought it would be wise to escort you back. I don’t trust any of these brutes.”

Lotor blinked, having lost track of her words. Acxa stepped closer, worry creasing her forehead.

“Prince?”

Lotor gulped, tasting bile as it squirmed up without his permission. He pressed his hand against his stomach and tried to calm his racing heartbeat, breathing in and out through his nose.

“You’re bleeding,” Acxa observed, reaching out for him. “I’ll call for a physician —” Lotor slapped her hand away with a hiss, embarrassed that he’d been found out.

“I’m fine,” he growled through clenched teeth. “It’s nothing. Leave — leave me be.”

“Head injuries are nothing to be taken lightly,” Acxa retorted acidly, crossing her arms over her chest. “And pardon me, but you don’t look well, Highness.”

Lotor made a visible effort to straighten, sharp features hardening as he opened his mouth to order her to wait for him back at the ship. He realized a moment too late that he had made a mistake.

His lips parted and a wet hiccup slipped out, followed by an audible gurgle as acidic liquid rose in the back of his throat. Lotor felt the blood draining from his face as he slapped his free hand over his mouth, stifling a retch into his palm.

He barely had time to react, stumbling a few steps away only to drop to one knee as gravity worked against his uncoordinated limbs. He thought he heard Acxa calling for him, but it was difficult to decipher anything past the incessant buzzing in his ears.

Lotor shuddered as his body broke out in a cold sweat. He braced one arm against the floor and quickly gathered up his long hair with the other as his mouth flooded with coppery tasting saliva. Without warning, his stomach clenched and forced his lips apart in preparation. It happened so abruptly that the prince could only watch with detached horror as his stomach contents forcefully spilled out of him and splattered between his legs.

He was in the process of drawing a much needed breath when a deep hiccup interrupted his efforts and ushered up another projectile surge of his breakfast. The mess on the floor expanded and Lotor attempted to scoot back in order to avoid soiling his armor. He felt hands gripping his shoulders, carefully easing him back a few inches. He coughed, spitting disgustedly as the rancid taste permeated his mouth.

Lotor cursed hoarsely, cringing as a soft burp escaped before he could clamp down on it. His head felt like the inside of a ship’s malfunctioning engine room. He desperately hoped he was finished, though the lingering nausea and persistent dizziness wasn’t promising.

“Now will you let me call someone?” Acxa asked, entirely unfazed by the violent episode.

“I don’t need — a doctor,” Lotor panted, swallowing down the renewed urge to gag. He reached up to place a trembling hand over his forehead. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to free himself from Acxa’s hold. “Get off of me.”

His voice was quiet, cold. He would not let embarrassment dictate the outcome of what had just happened.

After all, he did feel marginally better. Perhaps he’d just needed to be sick. Though his pounding head was still obviously plotting to murder him, his mind felt much clearer than it had a few minutes ago. Admittedly, his body had chosen to rebel at an exceptionally inconvenient time, but nothing could be done about that now.

Acxa released him and Lotor pushed to his feet, swaying only for a moment before regaining his equilibrium. He pressed the back of his hand to his wet lips, dabbing them dry.

“I’m going to use the facilities,” he said, maintaining a neutral tone. “I’ll meet you back at the ship to debrief the others. Have someone clean this up.”

“Prince Lotor —“ Acxa began to protest.

“Do as I say,” he sighed wearily. “I’ll only be a few moments.”

“I —“ she paused, looking uncertain. This display of indecisiveness from her was jarringly uncharacteristic and it made him uncomfortable. “I would like to help. You took a nasty hit and shouldn’t be left by yourself. You probably have a concussion.”

Lotor bristled, lips twitching into a deceptively charming smile. The fact that she had born witness to such a display of weakness was unacceptable. He would have to be more careful in the future.

“No.”

He was pleased that his feet did not falter as he turned his back on her and walked out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor has the flu. His captains are reluctant care-takers.

He woke covered in cold sweat, head reeling as he inhaled a quivering breath, desperate to calm his frantic heartbeat.

He curled up on his side, drawing his knees securely against his chest, although the new position did little to alleviate the shivers crawling over his limbs. Dizziness pinned him to the bed, weighting his body down as though he were nosediving directly against G-force.

Lotor moaned, panting into his pillow as the world spun and refused to settle. Nausea twisted viscously in his stomach, prompting him to swallow convulsively. His throat contracted, and he burped up the sour mouthful of air he’d tried to force down as his body rejected his attempts.

The prince pushed up on his elbows and rolled over, dragging off the sheets as he tumbled out of bed and landed hard on the floor. He cupped a hand over his mouth, muffling a retch into his palm as he crawled over to the metal waste bin sitting beside the door. The floor dipped precariously beneath his hands and knees which only intensified the swelling sickness. Twice he had to pause as he overcorrected, risking an undignified face-plant.

Clumsy fingers pulled back his hair as he braced his other arm against the rim of the container, finally giving in to the urge. The moment he stopped fighting, his throat constricted and a vile slurry abruptly poured from his mouth.

Surprised by the intensity, Lotor choked, back arching as he strained over the bin and coughed up another mouthful. His stomach clenched relentlessly and Lotor prepared himself for another round of misery, but nothing else came up. He was gagging on air. Surmising that he was done for the moment, he sat back on his heels, kneading circles into his sore abdomen.

“What the hell?” Lotor muttered, not bothering to stifle the next burp that pushed up his throat. He was alone after all, there was no need for courtesy. Curious, he reached up to feel his own forehead. It felt warmer than usual, but that was likely the result of sleeping hard and the recent exertion. He sighed, shaking his head as another bout of vertigo nearly sent him sprawling onto his ass. “How bloody inconvenient.”

Lotor shuddered with revulsion as another wave of bitterness flooded his tongue. His body was betraying him, and it was infuriating that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do except ride it out.

He was propelled forward by another wet belch, waiting for the inevitable as his churning stomach forced the dregs of its meager remains up his throat. He trembled as the revolting contents slid over his tongue and splashed into the bin. Coughing, he pressed the back of his hand against damp lips, desperate to suppress the need to continue retching.

His silver hair fell back over his shoulders as he released the impromptu ponytail. “Damn,” he gasped, breathless and sweating as he panted over his lap.

Lotor shivered, icy chills creeping up and down his spine as he considered the very real possibility that he might be feverish. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and bury himself in the warmth of the covers.

But he’d scheduled a debriefing for that morning. He only had an hour to make himself presentable and hope his generals didn’t mistake him for a walking corpse. He rested his aching head against his knees and groaned; sorting out conflicts and delegating orders was not at the top of his priorities list at the moment.

He knew they were waiting for him to interject, but at the moment he wasn’t certain he’d be able to wrangle his syrupy thoughts into any sensible order. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything except the enticing urge to close his eyes and rest his pounding head.

Their voices were the distorted rumblings of white noise echoing from the end of a static afflicted comm line. He felt like he was moving underwater, everything weighted and slow and spinning in too many directions.

“I do not think that is the wisest course of action,” Acxa was saying. Tempers were rapidly heating as his generals debated their next move amongst themselves.

“Zarkon’s planted spies all over that planet and they’re sure to be expecting us.”

“That’s where a diversion comes in handy,” Ezor piped in, sounding a little too excited at the prospect. “Something fun for a change!”

“Highness, you know the area. What’s the plan?” Acxa didn’t sound amused in the slightest.

All eyes turned expectantly and Lotor straightened up from his slouch. His stomach rolled sickeningly with the movement, vision swimming as he swayed upright.

“I do know it,” he began slowly; his tongue felt clumsy, as if he were talking through a mouthful of cotton. “But it is likely that the terrain has been altered since the war began. Acxa is correct. The potential gain does not justify the risk. Not if we stick to our original plan.”

Lotor paused, pressing a fist to his lips as queasiness bubbled up with a vengeance. Something gurgled deep in his throat and he forced himself to swallow. His stomach groaned in displeasure and he winced as the instinct to double over nearly got the better of him.

“Prince Lotor?” Acxa’s obvious concern grounded him. He rolled his shoulders and composed himself, swallowing a few more times for good measure. “Are you all right?”

“Of course,” he answered evenly. A bead of sweat trickled down into his eyebrow but he refused to dab it away. “Bring up the blueprints for the base. There has to be something we’ve missed.”

Acxa did as she was told and for the next hour, they labored over every tedious detail, scouring the plans for loopholes or an overlooked entry point.

And as much as Lotor was struggling to pay close attention and provide constructive input, all he could really concentrate on was _not throwing up_. The cloying nausea lingered in the back of his throat, tickling his gag-reflex and taunting him with the promise of humiliation if he let down his guard.

The amount of energy he was expending to maintain his willpower over his body was exhausting, draining him to the point of delirium. Or perhaps that was the fever he could feel raging beneath his skin. He felt as though he were cooking inside his own armor. Sweat plastered his silken strands to his face and neck, causing his skin to itch furiously. He was so dizzy. They were talking too fast; if he could just close his eyes for a moment…

His eyes snapped open at the awful sensation of something hot sliding up his throat. He tried to swallow but it was too late, he’d let his control slip. Lotor gagged in his mouth, choking as a flood of watery bile erupted past his lips and spilled down his front. His fingers clenched desperately around the armrests as he managed to lean over his knees, sick dripping from his chin as his stomach contracted with another painful heave.

He could feel steadying hands roving across his shoulders; someone was pulling his hair away from his face. Gradually, his stomach settled down long enough for the prince to reorient himself. The attack had come on so suddenly. He must have accidentally dozed off.

Worried faces and frantic words hovered above him as he panted raggedly, fighting to get his body under control. His stomach was still in knots, his uniform was a mess, he was fucking embarrassed for himself. He could practically hear his father laughing at him…

“Prince Lotor,” Acxa demanded, trying to direct his attention. “You should have told us you were unwell. Your body temperature is dangerously elevated.”

Lotor closed his mouth just in time to stifle a guttural belch. His shoulders jolted from the effort of containing it. _Oh, god_. He wasn’t done.

“Get off of me,” Lotor slurred, voice so thick he wasn’t sure they heard him. He raised a cautionary hand to his mouth, stumbling to his feet. A wave of vertigo nearly sent him crashing back to the floor, but two pairs of hands held him steady. Cold sweat bathed his skin and Lotor shivered, sagging against the arms holding him upright. His torso convulsed with a preemptive gag.

“Oh,” someone - _Ezor_? - squeaked urgently. “Acxa, he’s going to be sick again.”

And suddenly the pairs of arms were tugging him forward, forcing his limbs into motion. Lotor let them, he couldn’t have done it himself. The next thing he knew, someone was guiding him down to his knees, supporting his shoulders as they leaned him over the ship’s small metallic receptacle.

Lotor shuddered as a belching gag ushered up a bitter mouthful of stomach acid, muscles coiling and releasing as he strained over the bowl.

“All right, easy,” a female voice soothed from somewhere above him. “Don’t fight it.”

The instruction went against every instinct he possessed. Besides, he’d emptied himself out long ago. Lotor groaned, resting his forehead on the cool rim, in spite of the fact that his throat was still contracting involuntarily.

Eyes closed, he turned his head so that he could muffle the residual burp into his shoulder. He was too tired to suppress his urges any longer.

“I think —“ he panted, a breathy hiccup jolting his shoulders, “—I need to lie down.” He hoped he could keep his wits long enough to fall back into bed under his own power. He would not be carried back to bed.

“Of course,” Acxa replied. The harsh edge had disappeared, replaced by a gentleness he hadn’t known she possessed. It made him uncomfortable.

“I can walk,” he insisted as he dragged himself to his feet. “Please don’t trouble yourselves. I’m sorry you all had to witness that.”

“No trouble,” Ezor insisted, looking a bit shell-shocked as she wavered just outside the door. “We’re just worried about you.”

“I’ll be fine, I assure you. A few hours rest should do the —“ he hiccuped, belatedly cupping his hand over his mouth, “—the trick,” he finished sheepishly.

“A few hours my ass,” Acxa mumbled under her breath as she watched the prince weave his way back to his room. He staggered unsteadily, on the verge of collapse as he supported himself against the walls of the ship. She made a mental note to check on him in half a varga.

If she had any say, Prince Lotor would not be getting out of bed any time soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor gets motion sick and it doesn't go well...

His fingers trembled as they hovered over the controls, concentrated exhales doing absolutely nothing to steady his grip.

His panting breaths were humid inside the helmet, fogging up his visor every few seconds before his temperature regulated armor could clear it again.

Another queasy bubble of air squirmed up his throat and he swallowed several times to keep it down. They could hear him over the intercom, every labored breath and suppressed hiccup.

Lotor had never been prone to motion sickness. But then again, he’d never been forced to eat before flying. It would have been perceived as incredibly disrespectful if he had refused the meal offered during negotiations. He made a mental note to have one of his generals carry out proceedings with that particular clan in the future.

Whatever they’d fed him was stubbornly refusing to settle. And the fact that they’d run into an inconvenient gaggle of mercenaries wasn’t helping his finicky digestion.

Normally, something so trivial wouldn’t have been much of a problem. Eliminating the threat of space pirates and their sloppy attempts to commandeer his ship was a common occurrence; an inconsequential nuisance, really. Target practice. But this lot were taking their dear-sweet-time dying.

Lotor’s stomach sloshed and rolled precariously with every evasive spin and lurch of his fighter as he dodged yet another smattering of gunfire. Acxa was in his ear, providing cover fire and location data.

“Two approaching from your rear, twelve kilometers right,” she said, voice cutting out for a moment as static crackled in his ears.

“I see them,” he assured, dipping his fighter into a steep nosedive and pulling up just before his fighter skimmed the face of the rock. Adrenaline flooded his veins as he saw the two ships collide with the rogue meteor he’d angled them towards and explode into a brilliant mushroom cloud of fiery debris.

He leveled off and searched his tracker, using the brief moment of reprieve to press one hand to his roiling stomach. Cold sweat had caused the under armor beneath his suit to stick to his skin, creating an uncomfortable cocoon of clammy warmth. Lotor’s gut emitted a low whine, coaxing up a thick belch that he didn’t have enough foresight to stifle. The aftertaste nearly made him gag.

“Prince,” he heard Acxa demanding, concern evident in her voice. “What was that?” In the background he heard Ezor asking if the control board was malfunctioning again.

Lotor grit his teeth, clearing his throat as he struggled to swallow down a residual hiccup. “It was - _hicc_! - nothing.” He swore under his breath, could practically feel the puzzled looks his generals were giving each other. “Enemy status!” he growled into the com.

“One approaching rapidly, banking left,” Acxa informed, resuming her former composure. “All the others have blinked off my radar, Sir.”

“Fucking finally,” Lotor hissed after he’d clicked off the intercom. The last ship was obviously on a kamikaze mission and because the pilot was desperate, Lotor surmised that it shouldn’t be much of a problem to take him out.

But desperation often fosters insane decisions, especially in the air. The pilot banked unexpectedly to his right, swooping below him to get a target on Lotor’s tail.

“Cheeky bastard,” Lotor smirked. He inhaled a deep breath, forcing himself to focus, although his mounting nausea was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

Lotor initiated his turbos, slingshotting out of range and tipping the nose of his fighter straight up until he’d climbed into a backwards spiral. He ignored the dizzying pressure of the G-force and dove directly on top of the other ship, blasting it’s haul with a merciless barrage of gunfire. He quickly switched gears and pulled up, leveling off at the last second just as the ship exploded behind him.

The intercom crackled back to life and Axca’s voice flickered on the other end, mechanically providing the final status report. Lotor barely registered her words over his own ragged panting and the deafening buzz in his ears.

He sagged over the controls, swallowing desperately as his mouth began flooding with watery saliva. His stomach gave a powerful lurch and he instinctively brought a hand to his mouth. Lotor experienced a momentary swell of panic as he realized that he was still wearing his helmet. He’d run out of time. If he didn’t act quickly, he was going to be sick in his own fucking helmet.

Lotor kept his mouth stubbornly closed as his throat constricted with a forceful gag. He switched the controls to autopilot and scrambled out of his harness, tripping gracelessly out of his chair in his frenzied haste.

The prince landed hard on his knees, fumbling for the trigger to release his helmet from his suit as the overwhelming urge to retch intensified. Finally, he heard a soft click and pulled the damn thing free, his long hair falling untidily over his shoulders.

No sooner had he discarded the helmet than his entire body lurched with a deep gag. There was a nanosecond of anticipatory silence, strings of drool dripping unhindered from his parted lips as he clumsily gathered back his hair and hovered on his hands and knees. Then his stomach muscles contracted and a guttural retch propelled a revoltingly warm mouthful of sludge onto the floor.

Lotor shuddered, another wet burp causing his shoulders to tense as a much thicker wave of his stomach contents spewed from his mouth, landing with a sickening splat to join the spreading mess between his knees.

“Oh, god,” he panted, coughing through a violent dry heave. Lotor collapsed unceremoniously onto his ass, legs sprawling on either side to avoid the pile of vomit. He reached up to wipe the remnants of sickness from his lips, grimacing as he swallowed the bitterness coating his tongue.

He sat up, chest jolting with an unexpectedly sharp hiccup. He gulped, pressing a fist to his mouth just in time to burp up the rest. Fuck, his stomach was a wreck. But at least he felt empty, no longer struggling to breathe past the tumultuous maelstrom in his belly.

Now that his head was a little clearer, he could detect multiple voices shouting into the mic of his abandoned helmet.

He muffled another involuntary belching hiccup into his balled fist before speaking into the com.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” Lotor chuckled hoarsely, expertly schooling his silky tone to one of mild annoyance. The voices on the other line abruptly fell dead silent.

“Highness,” Acxa asked urgently. “What the hell happened? Are you hurt?”

Lotor sighed, regarding the puddle of sick with a sneer. Though he may as well have been speaking about an inconvenient change in the weather when he replied, “I’ve had a little…accident.”

And he fully intended to blame his humiliating lack of control on a sudden bout of the flu.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor tries food goo for the first time.

It wasn’t surprising that they’d locked him up. He would have been disappointed if they’d treated him with anything except the utmost caution.

What was surprising was the fact that he’d managed to stay on his feet for so long. The prince was exhausted. Mentally and physically drained past the point of functioning coherently.

They’d left him alone a few minutes ago and, finally, he had a moment to himself. A moment to process and regroup; two things at which he was notoriously inept. So instead, he collapsed against the wall of the mirrored cell and slumped to the floor, shaky legs all but giving out beneath him.

“Fuck,” he breathed softly into the stillness, closing his eyes against the disorienting shimmer of florescent light. He tucked his good arm around his chest, shivering against a phantom chill. A few seconds of weakness; that was all he could allow himself.

His shoulder was a mess, screaming excruciatingly if he so much as budged in the wrong direction. His head was spinning and his stomach hurt. He hadn’t eaten in over thirty-six hours, and he could feel his body beginning to shut down.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the cool glass as he carefully inhaled a steadying breath. After holding it a moment, he exhaled slowly through his nose. “Focus,” he told himself, forcing a calm he’d never been able to truly feel.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer alone. The yellow paladin, with the odd name - Hunk? Yes, that was what they’d called him - was standing just outside his cell, arms laden with a large tray. Lotor startled, caught off guard, spine instinctively straightening as he rose to his feet. A swell of vertigo caused him to sway, and he nearly stumbled before catching himself against the glass.

The yellow paladin watched him uncertainly for a moment, almost as if he were waiting for Lotor to regain his composure before he spoke.

“I uh —“ he stuttered, gulping nervously. “We thought you might be hungry.” He glanced at the tray then back up at Lotor, looking remarkably sheepish. “It’s not much. I didn’t, um, really have time to make anything. But it’s nutritious and it’ll fill you up. I’ve never been able to sleep on an empty stomach.”

He was rambling, nervous, Lotor noted. He schooled his expression into something he hoped appeared amicable. “Thank you,” he offered Hunk a grateful smile. “That’s very kind.”

A little of the tension visibly ebbed from the other boy’s shoulders. “No problem. We all gotta eat, right?” Hunk smiled back. It wasn’t exactly warm, but it was better than nothing.

Lotor nodded, simply because he wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. Hunk smiled again, easier this time, and placed the tray on a service bot stationed by the door. The robot entered the cell through a small opening nestled towards the bottom of the glass that whooshed as it allowed the machine to pass, invisible and hardly two feet wide.

Lotor accepted the tray, struggling slightly with his one good arm, and watched as the bot circled back around and exited the cell. He tried not to wince as the small glass door clicked shut. He glanced down to inspect the items resting in his lap.

There was a small water pouch - the straw had thankfully already been inserted - and a bowl of goop that looked suspiciously like something a Balmera might excrete. The stuff was neon green, congealed, and jiggled horribly when he inspected it with his spork. The thought crossed his mind that they might be trying to poison him. He hadn’t realized he’d looked back up at Hunk until the other boy abruptly broke the awkward silence.

“It tastes better than it looks,” Hunk shrugged apologetically. “We call it food goo. Coran raves about the stuff. To be honest, I never really got the appeal. But like I said, you won’t go hungry.”

Lotor swallowed hard, mentally bracing himself. He went for the pouch first and sucked a few deep gulps through the narrow straw. It did nothing to quench his thirst, but it did soothe the raw ache clogging his throat. He picked up the spork and scooped up a little of the goo, lifting the spoonful to his nose for a tentative sniff. It didn’t smell like anything, really. That was more disconcerting than it was reassuring. Food should smell like something.

Perhaps it was merely the power of suggestion, but his stomach suddenly cramped, growling angrily in anticipation. Lotor sighed, resigned to his fate as he took the first bite.

Surprisingly, it didn’t taste like much at all. A bit salty with a slightly sweet aftertaste that clung to the roof of his mouth when he tried to swallow. But it was the awful texture that made him gag. Gelatinous and strangely gritty, like he was chewing on slimy cement. Lotor dropped the spork and gagged quietly into his fist, eyes watering as he forced himself to swallow the mouthful.

Hunk was right up against the glass now, brows furrowed with worry and something like embarrassment. “I know,” he tried. “But you get used to it.”

Lotor leaned forward over his crossed legs, waiting for a moment to make sure the goo was going to stay down. After a few seconds of convulsive swallowing, his stomach muscles relaxed with a comforting warmth, even as the hunger pangs intensified with a vengeance, irate at the notion of being teased. He gave into the urge and took another bite, no longer caring what he was ingesting - simply grateful that it was gradually quelling the gnawing hollowness in his gut.

Far too soon, the bowl was empty. Lotor candidly licked his spork, sighing at the wonderful feeling of fullness before he caught himself. Hunk was still watching him, no doubt ordered to stand guard while he ate. But Lotor couldn’t read the younger boy’s expression. He didn’t look particularly happy. His eyes held a wary sadness that Lotor couldn’t place. Perhaps he was upset about being forced into such lose proximity with a former enemy of Voltron. No matter; he wouldn’t be here for long.

The yellow paladin shifted awkwardly on the heels of his boots. “There’s plenty more. Do you want some more?”

He did want more. But he wasn’t about to admit that he was absolutely famished in front of this human. Besides, he’d been running on empty for nearly four days, probably not wise to overdo it. Lotor carefully set the bowl back down on the tray. “No, thank you.” he shook his head, reaching up to brush back a strand of hair that had fallen loose while he’d been concentrating on his meal. “If it’s all right I’d like to sleep for a bit.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hunk stammered, immediately backing away from the cell. “Just, um, call if you need anything. Shiro’s coming down in an h— uh, a varga.”

“Ah, perfect,” Lotor smiled, voice lilting with weary sarcasm. “Tell him I’m looking forward to it.”

“Right,” Hunk drawled. He picked up the tray and left the room, motion sensors blinking ominously as the door whooshed shut behind him.

Lotor felt his posture wilting, shoulder jarring painfully as he sank back against the wall of his enclosure. He felt sticky warmth crawling between the crevices of his suit, his stomach uncomfortably full and tight beneath his armor. Perhaps he’d eaten too quickly, after all. An acidic bubble of air traveled up the back of his throat and Lotor pressed the back of his fist to his mouth, hurriedly stifling a belch.

He shifted against the wall, trying to find a more comfortable position. The floor was hard and chilly, and the mirrored walls provided little to no privacy if anyone should happen to walk in. He was utterly transparent, vulnerable.

Lotor winced, pressing a hand against his stomach in an effort to silence the gurgling whine of digestion. He wondered if Galra were even meant to digest whatever the hell that stuff was. His shoulders jolted with another suppressed belch, shuddering as the lingering aftertaste washed over his tongue. He suddenly didn’t feel very well.

The prince closed his aching eyes, hoping sleep would claim him, if only for a few minutes before the next interrogation commenced. He stretched his legs, desperate to relieve a bit of the pressure churning in his belly.

“Oh,” Lotor groaned, hiccuping through a much wetter burp. He could feel the goo slowly creeping back up his throat, and swallowed down the urge to gag. He was grateful he was alone. The noises he was making were abhorrently undignified, and the humiliating truth was that he simply couldn’t help it.

He felt lightheaded, skin prickling with cold sweat. He wished he could peel off his armor. The air in the cell was positively stifling. Another wet belch ushered up a watery mouthful of goo. Lotor immediately retched, spitting up the slimy liquid into his palm as he scrambled to his feet. He wiped his soiled hand on his pant-leg, bracing his good arm against the wall, silver hair falling over his shoulders as he inhaled a few calming breaths. His cheeks flushed hot with shame as he realized he wasn’t going to be able to wait for Shiro.

He was going to be sick.

Lotor sank to his knees, rocking gently as he struggled to get his body under control, muscles trembling from the effort. Out of his peripheral he saw the door slide open and a tall figure walked into the room.

“Prince?” Shiro looked startled. “Are you all right?”

Lotor’s breath hitched once before he could stop it. He forced himself to his feet as the black paladin cautiously approached the cell. “I’m not sure,” he gritted, tasting salt as his tongue flicked over his upper lip. “May I use the facilities? I think I may be ill.”

Shiro’s brow furrowed, understandably suspicious. He gave Lotor a once-over, hands balanced lightly on his hips. “Sure,” he answered slowly, squinting around the room as if looking for a trap. “I can take you.”

Lotor nodded his thanks, doing his best not to appear desperate as Shiro typed in the code on the keypad and the main cell door whooshed open.

“Do you need medical assistance?” Shiro asked, his tone polite but clipped. Though his eyes conveyed a twinge of concern. Lotor almost snorted; he must’ve looked worse than he felt.

“No, thank you,” Lotor panted, good arm tucked around his stomach as Shiro led him to the small washroom jutting off from the hallway. “I believe it was something I —“ he paused, cheeks inflating as he swallowed another burp, “— something I ate,” he finished quietly. “Excuse me.”

“Oh, man,” Shiro chuckled softly, scrubbing the back of his neck. “The food goo, huh?” His voice was a bit gentler, now. He must have realized Lotor wasn’t faking it. “Yeah, it takes a little getting used to.”

“I…I don’t think I’m, _mmph_ —“ Lotor trailed off, accidentally stumbling into Shiro as he slapped a hand over his mouth. His stomach heaved and he choked, neon-green liquid seeping through his fingers and dripping unceremoniously onto the floor.

The prince hovered over the small puddle, limbs frozen with mortification and eyes brimming with tears. He couldn’t hold it. He wasn’t going to make it.

“Shit,” Shiro cursed, reflexively reaching out to grip Lotor’s upper arm. “Hang on, almost there.” He curled his prosthetic hand around Lotor’s waist, practically dragging him the last couple of steps into the tiny room. “All right,” he murmured, coaxing Lotor onto his knees in front of the metal receptacle.

Lotor reached up, trembling fingers brushing through his long hair as he struggled to pull it out of the way. His stomach clenched and he bit back a whine.

“Here, I’ve got you,” Shiro offered easily. And then two large hands were relieving him of the burden, sweeping back Lotor’s mess of hair, carefully tugging the strands into a loose ponytail at the base of his neck.

He wanted to shrug the other man off, order him to leave. Instead, he leaned forward and retched violently over the basin. It didn’t take much, his lips parted and all at once everything was spilling out of him. First one wave, then another, leaving him dizzy and panting from the exertion.

“Easy,” Shiro coached from somewhere above him. “Get it up.”

Lotor shuddered, releasing a thick belch towards the water. Bile splashed into the basin, flecking his cheek as his fingers clenched around the edges of the receptacle. His injured shoulder spasmed and he thought he might pass out.

“Go — out,” Lotor hiccuped, growling through his teeth as he spat into the water.

“Yeah, right,” Shiro snorted. “And let you escape on my watch?” But his tone was teasing. The strong hand resting on Lotor’s shoulder squeezed reassuringly. It felt good.

Lotor had never been reassured by anything in his life.

“Besides, you wouldn’t get far with that busted shoulder.” Shiro knelt beside him, pulling a cloth from a rung and offering it to Lotor. The prince coughed into the bunched fabric before dabbing at his leaking eyes. “You should let Coran look at it.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lotor whispered hoarsely.

Shiro rose to his feet, obviously signaling for Lotor to follow suit. “I’ll ask Hunk to make something that’ll be easier on your stomach.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the prince insisted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood. Shiro caught his arm when he swayed.

“I’ll decide what’s necessary,” Shiro said, wrinkling his nose as he reached around Lotor to flush away the mess. “We can talk later. I’m going to have Coran come down and set your shoulder. Then you should try and sleep a little.”

Lotor frowned, eyebrows quirking with confusion.

Shiro shrugged, uncharacteristically exasperated as he sighed, “You look like shit, I feel like shit. We’ll talk later, okay? A little time will do everyone some good. Get your story straight.”

Lotor smiled, inexplicably amused by the Voltron commander’s outburst. But he couldn’t really argue with the glorious prospect of sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After defeating Zarkon, Lotor is definitely not okay.

Lotor tugged off his helmet with a weary grunt, tucking it under his arm as he exited his fighter and descended the ramp. Somehow, he’d beaten them back to the castle. He could only imagine the interrogation he’d face once the paladins returned.

Lotor was reeling. He still couldn’t believe it. Zarkon was dead. He’d actually fucking done it.

His father was dead. _Done_. It was done.

The prince paused. He was alone, and so he allowed himself to lean against the railing for a moment, inhaling a few slow breaths. His head was spinning, adrenaline usurped by a niggling malaise as he glanced down at his battered armor; the blood crusting along the crevices of his gloved knuckles and the tremors wracking his muscles.

He’d taken a nasty blow to his left side, but for some reason it was his head that throbbed, nearly blinding him with the pain. Wet warmth had begun seeping into his boot as he limped away from the battle ground and now he could feel it pooling, squelching sickeningly with every step.

Lotor swayed, eyes fluttering open with a twinge of panic. He was tired. He needed to lie down, if only for a few moments. Regroup and clean himself up. His quarters were not far and he forced himself to straighten up. His chest ached, a black hole eating at his heart, draining him out. But that could be dealt with later.

Right now he needed to focus.

The world was growing dim around the edges, shimmering and stuttering like a faulty projection. Sweat bloomed beneath his suit; he was being smothered, too warm and too cold all at once. The nausea came on without warning, twisting his insides and burning his throat. He swallowed bile and tasted blood.

He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. A face he thought he’d known all his life stared back, hardened eyes growing soft and wet the longer he watched. He reached to turn on the faucet and didn’t realize how hard he was shaking until his fingers slipped over the handle. It took two tries to turn on the water.

Lotor cupped a hand over his mouth, shoulders jerking with the force of the dry sob that wrenched out of him. He did not recognize the eyes searching his own. They were lost, frightened.

He felt the weight of it all dragging him to his knees. The magnitude of what he’d done, who he was meant to become. It was too much. In that brief, private moment, it was too much.

Every disappointment, every hateful word that had ever been spoken over him, every worthless thing he believed to be true about himself, it all crashed over him with the unrelenting power of a tidal wave. It sucked him under and suddenly his lungs were screaming for oxygen, only to fill with water. He clutched at his chest, panic clogging his throat in the midst of this intangible suffocation.

Another sob exploded from the pit of his stomach as if to expel the weight from his lungs, doubling him over as he struggled to contain the noise. His head swam and the black hole pulsed and expanded, preparing to swallow him. He crawled away from the darkness, away from the black thoughts that would blot him out if he kept his eyes closed.

Lotor pulled himself over the lip of the toilet just in time to empty his stomach. He was too tired to fight it any longer and the first wave spilled out of him without effort. It wasn’t much. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten a meal. Nevertheless, his stomach was determined to wring him dry.

Lotor gagged on an empty belch, throat stinging with the metallic bitterness of copper and acid. He wiped halfheartedly at sticky tendrils of pink-tinged saliva, pressed a fist to his mouth and fought to keep from setting himself off again.

He closed his eyes, desperate to soothe his frantic breathing, his manic heartbeat. There was blood in the bowl. Angry rivulets of crimson swirling among the remnants of whatever had been on his stomach. Lotor felt lightheaded. He swayed over his knees, ears buzzing loudly enough to deafen him.

He longed for sleep. But that wasn’t possible. They would be back soon, if they weren’t already. They would be looking for him. There would be questions, suspicions to quell. Plans to make.

Lotor inhaled a shaky breath, then another, slower this time. He gulped down the lingering nausea and carefully pulled off his boot, nearly swooning as congealed blood, thickened with sand, drained out onto the floor and pooled underneath his legs, staining his armor. He unfastened his breastplate, then his tunic to expose his stomach. His side throbbed in protest, abdominal muscles quivering with the release as a fresh trickle of blood leaked down into his lap. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was wide.

Lotor pressed his hand over the inflamed flesh, groaning through clenched teeth. He glanced warily at the med kit nestled beneath the sink. The next few minutes were an agonizing exercise in self-control as he quickly disinfected the wound and bound his waist, effectively staunching the sluggish flow of blood.

He tied off the bandage and exhaled, keening softly in the back of his throat. The nausea abruptly resurfaced and Lotor barely had time to jerk his head to the side before he was spitting up a mouthful of stomach acid. He retched dryly, straining through the clutch of pain, his body refusing to acknowledge that he was running on empty.

“Calm down,” he panted. “Come on,” he inhaled deeply, ignoring the gnawing ache in his lungs. It was a trick he’d used for as long as he could remember. Five seconds in and five seconds out, forcing himself to breathe through his nose. Focusing on the expansion and exhalation inside his ribcage until his mind was empty and clear.

He had work to do.

Lotor opened his eyes, fumbled for the edge of the sink and pulled himself to his feet. He refastened his armor, praying that it would hold his insides in place until he could truly be alone.

Allura was already on the control deck. She acknowledged his entrance with a courteous nod. Lotor returned the gesture with a respectful, “Princess,” and slowly uncurled his arm from around his waist, fists clenching at his sides as he straightened. He felt an unnerving gush of fluid seeping into his bandage and swallowed thickly.

Despite his common sense urging him to maintain appearances, Lotor feared that passing out was an unpleasant probability if he didn’t sit down. Best to save his energy for the paladin’s arrival. He gingerly lowered himself onto a convenient step, bracing his elbows on his knees in an effort to hold his upper body upright.

“They should be here any minute,” Allura informed him. She was tense, fingers tapping nervously over her biceps, small shoulders coiled nearly up to her ears.

“Good,” Lotor replied quietly. “There is much to discuss.” He didn’t have the energy to look up at her. Instead he studied the slight tremor in his right hand, focused on steadying it.

Allura frowned, angling towards him. Her arms remained crossed as she gave him a skeptical once over, but some of the tension visibly deflated from her shoulders. “Are you all right?” she asked, genuine concern softening her tone.

The unexpected question caught him off guard. She wasn’t supposed to notice. She wasn’t supposed to care. Lotor felt an involuntary lump rise in his throat, felt his eyes growing hot. He blinked stubbornly until the feeling settled back down inside his chest. He couldn’t look at her.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, despising the waver in his voice. He repeated the words silently, willing them to be true.

Allura looked as though she wanted to say something else, but at that moment the doors whooshed open and the paladins stepped through. The moment passed and Lotor’s mask slipped back into place. He rose to his feet and did not allow himself to stumble.

_I’ll be fine._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor doesn't know he's lactose intolerant. That's it. That's the story. aka one of the most self-indulgent things I've ever written...

“Forgive me. I do not understand.”

Lotor is staring at her like she’s just shoved a space toad in his face and ordered him to kiss it. Allura feels an involuntary blush spreading across her cheeks and the up the tips of her ears.

“It’s a milkshake,” she explains. “I thought you could use one. You’ve had a rough go of it, lately, and these make everything better, trust me. Just try it.” She smiles brightly, offering him the mug of frothy ice cream.

“What do I do with this?” Lotor asks, accepting the drink with a perplexed frown.

“Drink it, of course,” Allura laughs, amused by his obvious confusion.

Lotor’s lips twitch with a little half-smile, despite his reservations. He sniffs the drink and his pupils dilate just a fraction. He swallows apprehensively.

“I hardly see the nutritional value in consuming this,” he says, fiddling curiously with the colorful bendy straw.

“It has nothing to do with nutritional value,” Allura counters, huffing impatiently. “You consume it because it tastes amazing. And it took a few attempts but I refuse to believe that Hunk is the only person on this ship who can craft the perfect handspun milkshake! Now try it.”

She crosses her arms and arches an eyebrow up at him, daring him to argue.

Lotor finally smiles, features softening as he inclines his head toward her with a bemused, “As you wish, Princess.”

Allura watches as his lips close around the straw and he takes his first tentative sip. His eyes widen, and he seems pleasantly surprised when he pulls away. His tongue clicks several times against the roof of his mouth, savoring the cold, sweet taste and smooth texture of the ice cream.

“Oh my,” he breathes, immediately going back for another sip. Something warm flutters inside Allura’s chest at his delighted smile. “You were not wrong. This is delicious. I’ve never tasted something so…decadent.”

“I’m so glad you like it,” Allura exclaims. “Lance introduced us to them, and Kaltenecker has been kind enough to indulge all of us.”

“Who is—?“

“Oh, you simply must meet her,” Allura interrupts. “She is quite the celebrity around here.”

Lotor snuffs a breathy laugh through his nose since his mouth is occupied with more important matters. He’s gazing down at her between sips, his own eyes brightening in the proximity of her contagious enthusiasm.

“I look forward to it,” he says, swallowing a much larger, far less dignified gulp of milkshake. The mug is already more than half empty. Then he abruptly pulls away and his ears flatten self-consciously. “I apologize, I’m being rude. Wouldn’t you like some?” He offers her the mug with both hands outstretched, cradling the cup as if it contained precious treasure rather than artificially sweetened teat-milk.

“Oh, no, thank you.” She pushes the mug back towards him. “I made it just for you.” Lotor’s ears perk up at that. It’s rather sweet, he doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it. “Besides, Coran and I drink them whenever we like.” She leans closer, cupping her hand to her mouth and whispering conspiratorially, “Just don’t tell Lance. He is oddly possessive of Kaltenecker.”

“Your secret is safe,” Lotor’s smile is warm. “Thank you, Allura. You really shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”

“No trouble. We can all use a little pick-me-up every now and again.” Allura returns his smile, allowing her fingers to linger over his for a moment. “Now,” she says, breaking their contact and striding briskly over to their work table. She leans down to find her place in a massive book of Altean spells. “Where did you leave off?”

Lotor finishes the last of the milkshake with an appreciative slurp and sets the mug aside before walking over to join her.

“I found something very intriguing regarding the correlation of preserved quintessence and the unusual characteristics of the environments it’s been discovered in.” Lotor traces his finger down the page Allura is studying. “I believe this is crucial if we are to understand the fundamentals of converting the power into its — _hmmph_! — purest form.” Lotor halts, surprised by the hiccup. “Oh. Pardon me.” He rubs his chest, frowning slightly before lowering the hand to hover briefly over his stomach.

Allura barely offers him a glance before she’s delving back in to the paragraph, already engrossed. Lotor settles down a little further away, returning to scour a separate manuscript. They sit researching and documenting in companionable silence for several doboshes before Allura hears Lotor shifting. He’s been swallowing hiccups since they sat down, but she hadn’t felt the need to comment and risk embarrassing him.

But when she glances over, the prince is frowning, looking distinctly uncomfortable. She notices the sheen of sweat dotting his upper lip, the pained crease of his brow. His hand strays back down to his stomach and he presses gently. A thick belch slips out a tick before he’s able to slap a hand over his mouth. Allura’s eyes widen in surprise and the prince’s face flushes a deep crimson.

Lotor reluctantly pulls his hand away, looking as though he might just melt right into the floor. “Please, excuse me,” he mumbles, fists clenching and the tips of his ears drooping nearly to his jawline. “My sincerest apologies, Princess.” He presses his hand back over his lips just in time to muffle a gurgly hiccup.

“Are you…all right?” Allura inquires, suddenly concerned. She’s not quite sure how to respond. “You’re quite pale.”

Lotor’s cheeks inflate before he can answer, struggling to contain another burp. He swallows convulsively, rubbing gingerly across his slightly distended middle. “I’m sorry,” he gulps. “I’m afraid my stomach is a bit upset.”

“Oh, dear,” Allura tuts sympathetically. “We should stop for today then, if you’re unwell. Perhaps you ought to retire.”

But Lotor shakes his head. “I assure you, I’m all right. But I cannot seem to stop—“ he gestures helplessly to himself, jolting with another hiccup as if to punctuate his point. “Pardon me.”

“Don’t think of it,” Allura waves off the apology with a reassuring smile. “Living in close quarters with four human boys who have very little use for manners has effectively immunized me.”

Lotor tries to laugh, appreciating her effort to make him feel better. But the moment dissipates when his stomach emits an angry, bubbly whine. Lotor grimaces, grunting softly as he curls over his knees and wraps an arm around himself.

“Lotor, that sounds painful,” Allura hops off her stool and is beside him in an instant, resting a small hand on his hunched shoulder. “You really don’t look well. Perhaps we should take you to Coran and see if—“

“I told you, I’ll be fine,” Lotor snaps, twisting away from her.

She pulls her hand back and takes a step away from him, schooling her features into a neutral expression. Hurt throbs, tight and sour in her chest for a moment before a horrible thought strikes her. “Oh, no,” she breathes, bringing a hand to her own mouth. “Do you…do you think it was the milkshake?”

Lotor peers back up at her, looking sorry and guilty and panicked all at once. “No. No, Allura—“ he protests through a thick swallow that seems to catch in his throat. “I promise it wasn’t— wasn’t…” he trails off, shoulders rippling beneath his under-armor before he goes completely stiff.

“Lotor?” Allura finds herself instinctively reaching for him. “Tell me what you need.”

He lifts a trembling hand in her direction, silently begging her to wait a moment. She hears something rumbling in Lotor’s throat, low and ominous. He’s trying to stand when a deep belch gurgles out of him without warning, bringing with it a thin stream of milky froth. He catches most of it his hand, some of the stuff still manages to splash onto the table.

Lotor chokes, the sound caught somewhere between a gag and a whimper, desperately cupping both hands over his nose and mouth. He kicks the stool over and stumbles a few steps away from the desk, but doesn’t seem to know where to go or what to do. Slimy, predigested milk drips between his fingers, and she can see his cheeks bulging with the effort of holding back the urge to retch.

Allura shakes herself out of the shock-induced paralysis and jumps into action, leading him by his elbow to the nearest waste dispenser. “Okay, come here. Come on,” She presses a hand against the small of his back, urging him to bend over. “It’s all right.”

Lotor sinks into a squat, releasing his hands just in time to burp up another mouthful into the container. He holds his soiled hands awkwardly over the rim, trying not to drip anywhere else. He mumbles something, but the words are lost in a guttural retch. He bows his head, back arching as a thick torrent of curdling milkshake pours out of him, leaving him shaking, breathless, and utterly humiliated.

Delicate fingers scratch gently over his scalp, tugging his long hair out of the line of fire. “ _Shh_ …”Allura soothes, remarkably unperturbed by the revolting turn of events. “I’ve got you. Get it up.” Lotor hiccups miserably. “Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I could’ve sworn I followed the recipe.”

Lotor buries his head and burps a few more times, allowing the excess saliva to dribble freely into the bin. His shoulders jerk with a breathy hiccup before he clears his throat, spits and sits back on his heels. She offers him a grease-covered towel and he gratefully accepts, wiping his mouth with the clean portion and then his hands.

“I should be the one apologizing,” Lotor coughs into the bunched cloth. “I lost control and you were forced to bear witness to this disgusting display. I hope you can forgive me.”

She inspects his stress-tear streaked face; the normally impeccably styled bangs sticking haphazardly to his sweaty neck, shame splotched in red across his cheeks, the way his lips purse against leftover hiccups, refusing to let them up even though she’s already seen the worst.

“And might you, perhaps, consider refraining from telling the others about this, erm, unfortunate incident?” Lotor stares fixedly at his lap, still looking like he wants to throw up.

Allura slides two fingers underneath his chin, coaxing him to look up at her. “Of course,” she says. “You couldn’t help it. There is nothing to forgive.”

“Thank you, Princess. You’re…you’re very kind,” Lotor exhales, rubbing absently over his aching belly. “Perhaps I should retire after all. I admit, I don’t feel very well. I do not think I’m — _hic_ — finished.”

“Can I bring you anything? Something to drink, perhaps?”

Lotor swallows around a gag, “Just…no more milkshakes,” he pleads, bringing a precautionary fist to his lips.

“Deal,” Allura giggles, feeling a bit relieved, despite the awkward situation. He wasn’t upset with _her_ , just embarrassed, as anyone would be.

Although she can’t help wondering what exactly went wrong. Everyone likes milkshakes. And yet, she’d been betrayed, by the universe’s perfect drink no less.

Kaltenecker would be getting an earful about this.


End file.
